It's Still Life

for Napowrimo Day 24: fruit

This was supposed to be about fruit. It took off in a direction that I hadn’t intended. Sometimes, reality just refuses to be prompted.

Being a Rat Chatcher is an Honourable Profession

The poncy Bichon next door
has decided to be a dog again.
For a while there, it was
a mongrel that rolled in its
own gelatinous shit.

Then it was greyhound, racing
around its garden and barking
at wheeling seagulls on updrafts.

Last summer it was a fried egg,
stretched on the sun-baked
pavement that was too hot.
It burned its paws; couldn’t walk.

And yesterday, it ate a whole salami.
Every dog on the street got a whiff
of that, and begged for bolognese.

Before that, it ate butterflies.
And bees. And the afternoon post.
And the postman’s ankle.

Anyway, it decided to be a dog again –

It caught a rat yesterday that was
stealing apples from a compost bin.
Good job. I might encourage this.
Reward it with another salami.
Every street needs a rat catcher.

for PA Day 24: nature

Mere Mortals

After dinner
I sat under the apple tree,
the day taking in the last
moments of light.
Blossoms pollenated
and waiting like laughter
to fill the air.
And then you came,
a cup of tea in each hand,
and you sat beside me.

The Nature of Things: Coronas and Other Novel Mishaps

Another Titanic,
Another Black Death,
An iceberg,
Choking on a grain of rice,
A slice of burnt toast,
A campfire,
A forest fire,
A malstrom,
A broken dish, nee my heart,
Scarlet rust in my blood,
The needle-sting of salt,
A cold shower,
Some ice never melts,
Heaven’s white door, closed.

©️ Misky 2020 It’s Poem a Day month. These are all 1st drafts.